


Pilot

by DarkmoonSigel



Series: Welcome to the End of Days [1]
Category: Supernatural, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Supernatural Elements, creepy writing, strap in people, this is going to get weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief story to kick off the beginning of a crossover. Regret nothing until it is too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> I OWN NOTHING.  
> Beginning of the story is a direct quote from 'Welcome to Night Vale', the pilot episode, which I do not own.  
> Not beta read.

“A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale.  
Hello listeners………

……..Told us to evacuate the building. But then, who would be hear to talk sweetly to all of you out there? Settling in to be another clear night and pretty evening here in Night Vale. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with, or, at least, good memories of when you did.

Good night, listeners. Good night. 

Proverb: Look to the north. Keep looking. There’s nothing coming from the south.”

There was a moment of silence in the Impala that quickly reverted to white static. Dean flicked the radio off so the silence was renewed, glancing over at Sam whose brow was furrowed in deep thought.

“So….” Sam began. “…Are we….?”

“Yup.” Dean nodded his head.

“We don’t even know where…” Sam tried to point out

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll find it.” Dean countered.

“Do we…”

“Every last one of them.”

TBC


	2. The Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two strangers and an angel enter Night Vale. Cecil reports.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing.  
> Not beta read.
> 
> Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn

The light from the stars is dead, so very long dying and dead. Many a wayward traveler has used this rotting celestial mapquest to guide their way across the world. Is it any small wonder that so many of them get lost, never to be heard from again? The star’s faint corpse glow lights up our little town as well, but we are not lost. Just simply misplaced by great and terrible forces beyond our meager perceptions.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello listeners. The Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area got a boost in business today when a river of blood made its way through town and has apparently decided to stay here for a while. The Business Association would like me to remind all our dear townsfolk of the harbor’s top-of-the-line, beautiful facilities and that they would like to add a very smug ‘we told you so’ along with the reminder. There is no word on whose blood the river is made up of or how long it plans to stay or even if its actually sentient. Our local vampire community has informed us that the river is mostly O positive with some traces of B negative. What does this mean to you? I have no idea. It should be noted that the Blood River has refrained from going anywhere near the Old Town Drawbridge or the new Drawbridge Construction Site, denying either merit or reason for existing. Possibly because the engineers have decided to construct the latest unstable foundation entirely out of lime Jello, and who can blame the Blood River for that? Everyone knows that Blood Rivers are allergic to lime Jello and its ‘too green to be actually real’ nature. 

And now the news.

Two strange men have been reported entering our fair little town by way of north bound on-ramp to the eastern expressway just south of Route 800 which is impressive considering that Exits 15 and 17 are still closed for reasons. You don’t need to know the reasons. Its is safer for us all if you do not so please cease and desist in all inquires about it. If you insist, I can not help you. No one can. The strangers are driving a terribly noisy but otherwise beautifully maintained black 1967 Chevrolet Impala with stunning chrome hubcaps and detailing. I, for one, welcome these strangers on that fact alone. It is so nice to know that there are some individuals who actually care about vehicular presentation, unlike others. You know who you are Steve Carlsberg, abuser of that poor tan Corolla and its mismatched hubcaps. Disgraceful and shameless. Can nothing be done about Steve Carlsberg and his unforgivably lazy crimes against humanity? 

But I digress. 

The strangers have been seen chatting with Teddy Williams at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. I have been informed that they have declined a chance to play the lanes but are somewhat interested in the Underground City, the entrance of which can be found below Lane 5. Teddy discussed his theories about the Underground City, their child king, and our future enslavement to their race with the strangers over a basket of delicious, succulent chicken wings. Teddy says that the taller of the two strangers who had long beautiful hair ate all the celery. I find that highly unlikely though, dear listeners. No one eats the celery. No one. Ever.

In other news, Old Woman Josie has been seen showing a strange dark haired man around the Brownstone Spire, one who is wearing a filthy trench coat over a dark suit. Old Woman Josie claims she is simply being a polite host and that the scruffy man is actually an angel of the Lord even if he does look unshaven and slightly confused about it. She further explains that the man is an Angel of Thursday which is all well and good for him since we all know Thursdays are a safe enough day and that Wednesdays no longer exist. The scheduling issue is still being sorted out and not in a timely manner. When certain authorities, that even I dare not name, were asked about this, it was revealed that no one cared enough about Wednesdays for the hassle or their continued existence in the fabric of time. So there you have it, dear listeners. No more Wednesdays. It’s official. You can all relax now and erase that protective blood sigil on the inside of your refrigerator…you know, the one in the butter bin… and unlock your doors if you feel so inclined to do so. 

More on the strangers. The Night Vale Daily Journal has announced that the two strangers have visited them as well. Editor Leanne Heart reports that the strangers are claiming to be FBI agents with ridiculous names from long forgotten 80’s heavy metal hair bands. A Vague but Menacing Government Agency has denied all connections to the fake FBI agents while some members of the City Council have claimed that the strangers are working for them even if they are not aware of it yet. The real FBI was quite surprised about the stranger’s claim as well when they were informed about it but their questions about the whereabouts of anything and anyone or how they were even being contacted were ignored as per usual. The Apache Tracker, you know that Slavic white guy who insists upon wearing that ridiculous and horribly offensive Native American headdress, has tried to weigh in on the matter of the strangers with the City Council, claiming he knows the awful truth about them by means of his ancient Indian magics. He has been dismissed for being distasteful and ignorant. I say, good on you City Council, good on you for that decision. We can’t have complete strangers thinking that the town is full with racist citizens. 

And now, a word from our sponsor-

** screams of the drowning**

IA! IA! CTHULHU FHTAGN!  
N’GAI!  
N’GAI!  
Y’HAAH, SHOG-YOGGOTH!  
SHOG-YOGGOTH, N’GAI CTHULHU SOTH-OTH!  
…  
…  
Look on me and despair  
…  
…  
** long period of radio silence**

And now, traffic.

The highway patrol would like commuters to stop racing the ghost cars. It only encourages their existence. Also the ghost cars are only trying to make more of themselves so to please keep that in mind as your last thoughts when you spin out of control at high speeds and hit a barrier, flipping and crumbling your car like a soda can full of liquefied you.

Breaking news! The two strangers have paid a visit to Carlos, probably to admire his perfect and beautiful hair. Who can blame them for wanting to do that? I certainly can not. For a while now, I have been petitioning for the town’s tours to make it a point to stop by where Carlos works with all his many busy scientists and show off his beautiful thick hair and marvel at the silvery tones of it at his temples, like silver starlight dashed across the blackest part of night. Thus far my petitions have been quite rudely ignored. I would like to point out that Telly the Barber, the vile man who sheared off Carlos’s beautiful locks a few week ago, is still wandering about in the Sand Wastes, giving unsuspecting cactuses trims and cooing at them through sun blistered lips. Why am I bringing this up? Because some crimes should never be forgotten and certain favors can still be called in with simple blood sacrifices to the proper stone circles. Certain some ones should keep that in mind the next time they so rudely ignore a heartfelt request that would beautify our town.

Here are this week’s horoscopes.

Virgo: Stay inside today. No one likes you. No one has ever liked you. 

Libra: You should wear pink today and not question why or the things that happen to you while doing so.

Scorpio: Have you always looked like that?

Sagittarius: You should travel. I mean now, like right now. Why aren’t you running, you poor damned fool?!

Capricorn: Your jam will be stolen by small purple and black raccoons. Or at least, I think they are raccoons. They sort of look like the masked bandits of the animal kingdom. Sort of but not enough for positive identification. Best stock up on jam or better yet, buy jelly instead for a while until this is all sorted out.

Aquarius: The peanut is neither a pea or nut. It is actually a legume and you should be quite frightened about this. 

Pisces: Don’t believe in anything.

Aries: Small green aliens will being abducting you later on today. It is your responsibility remembering to bring the lube. If for some reason you are abducted by small grey aliens instead, try to remember in your panic to bring a spoon along with the lube. It is vital for your survival.

Taurus: Ideas are dangerous things. An unborn idea can become a cancer that will eat your brain from the inside out. 

Gemini: Smile. Someone could be falling in love with you. That or one of the many government agencies could be taking a picture of you without your knowledge. 

Cancer: Mother loved you best and that is why you have to do what you were born to do no matter how painful you find it.

Leo: When your reflection blinks at you, try not to scream. The thing living in your mirror that is not you but looks exactly like you hates that.

That has been this week’s horoscopes. 

This just in on the two strangers. The two strangers in their ill fitting suits have entered the dog park. I repeat, the dog park that we know nothing about and do not dare look upon or even acknowledge with its high black walls and electrified fences has been entered by the two strangers. That is all. 

And now the weather.

(The sound of rain hitting dust)

Welcome back, listeners. 

More on the dog park. My informants tell me that the hooded figures have been seen running out of the dog park, following long blood curdling screams, flashes of blinding light, chanting in Enochian, and numerous gunshots. The two strangers have exited the dog park as well, looking a little worse for wear in their ill fitting suits but still alive and oddly enough still sane. Their company had been joined by the angel in the filthy trench coat, though he is now wearing an ugly sweater over his suit. Angels can be forgiven for such a fashion faux pas. Despite being covered in eyes, angels do not seem to retain the ability to recognize hideously woven materials even ones made lovingly by Old Woman Josie.

On that note, just a reminder to all parents out there. Let’s talk about safety for a moment. Quit showing people pictures of your children. Most of us find them ugly and boring. Please quit boring us with ugly pictures of your children you have birthed and/or spawned. Think about your children. I mean really think about them. Where did you get them? Are they even yours to begin with?

And now a brief public service announcement from the city council. Angels. The city council does not approve of the new angel in town and is looking into the matter. Not that the public should worry about things like that, since angels shouldn‘t exist or anyone outside of the city council have knowledge of. Anyone who encounters the angel in the filthy trench coat now wearing an ugly sweater should not speak with him or even acknowledge his presence if you happen to come across him while shopping or eating at Rico’s Pizza. He will only tell you lies and he does not exist even if his eyes are the bluest eyes that have ever blued. Report all angel sightings to the city council for treatment. 

Carlos, beautiful and perfect Carlos, popped in during the break for a visit but declined to stay or discuss future plans for dinner or the weekend. He was quite excited about the two strangers and about their ability to enter and exit the dog park for the most part unharmed. His excitement made his strong jaw look all that more clean cut and pronounced. I will admit that I could not look away and to be completely honest with all of you, I lost track of the rest of the conversation, something I painfully regret. Every word that Carlos utters is easily a revelation, an epiphany, and a damnation after all. Despite all my sins, I was able to glean for you dear listeners that the strangers go by the name of Winchester. No word on dinner plans though.

Let us embrace the Winchesters as one of our own. Anyone named after a gun can’t be bad after all. Guns are good and have never killed anyone. Perhaps we can even entice the Winchesters to stay in town a while longer and even become part of our bustling community. With the Apocalypse coming up just around the corner sooner than expected, we could use all the every able bodies we can muster on such short notice, even if it for canon fodder. Remember a stitch in time saves nobody. 

Good night, listeners. Good night.

Proverb: The chairs will keep us apart. The sofa will bring us together. 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. The feral dogs eat your comments.


	3. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos the scientist listens to the radio and gets a little bit jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing.  
> Not Beta Read
> 
> short story of short

Like any other day that may or may not exist, Carlos was listening to the radio while he worked. He almost dropped his beaker though because of it.

“Dear listeners, the two strangers have popped in for a visit here at the station and have politely introduced themselves as Sam and Dean Winchester after flashing their badges didn‘t have any effect on the interns. Those FBI badges were just ridiculous and you are smart to get rid of them, boys. Everyone knows that real FBI badges give off a certain blue radiation anyway. My listeners can’t see you, at least most of them, but Sam has long beautiful hair…..”

Startled by the announcement, Carlos managed to catch the beaker in time, making all the other scientists in the room breath a sigh of relief. He glared at the radio, Carlos not liking the sound of that. Putting away the beaker full of terrible sentient chemicals that could kill or cure depending on the content’s mood at the moment, Carlos changed into his nice lab coat and left in his Pruis Coupe, chiding himself for acting illogically. Cecil could compliment anyone about their hair really. It wasn’t like they were officially together as a unit, couple….thing. His stomach hurt for other reasons, not from hearing Cecil talk about another person or gave him a sharp headache just right behind his eyes at the very thought of Cecil admiring someone else who was not him.

Cecil with his melodic, sensual voice….Cecil who seemed like he was only talking to him, like Carlos was the only other person in the town, in the world.

No, no, no. He was not acting irrationally. No, not at all. He just had to….had to… He had to see if those men were the same ones who had come by his lab earlier, asking questions that would have been strange if it were not for Night Vale. Yes that was it! And if Cecil just happened to be at the radio broadcast station, sitting in his booth, interviewing them, well that would just be happenstance. 

Carlos had built up quite a head of steam by the time he got to the station. He breezed in, ignoring all the frantic interns and nearly walked smack into Sam, he of the supposedly long, beautiful hair. 

Carlos looked up and up, trying to remember if Sam was that tall before or if he had just simply failed to notice. Carlos tended to do that with people. People were boring to look at, with the exception of Cecil of course. Carlos could watch Cecil all day, the way his delicate long fingers gripped the mike and shuffled through the announcements that inexplicably disappeared and reappeared at someone else’s terrible will. The way his tattoos seemed to stare at him from across the room…the way his third eye glowed and fluttered shut whenever he entered the room.

Yes, Cecil was worthy of his attention and study. 

And now this giant man of long hair and dear god, what gene pool did he come from to get cheekbones and a jaw line like that?

Carlos’s scientific mind reevaluated his chances with Cecil against this kind of man and Carlos calculated that his odds were not heavily in his favor. He sighed and wondered vaguely if there were other radio stations in Night Vale. He has honestly never checked but he didn’t think he could take hearing Cecil’s melodic, sensual voice wax poetic about Sam and his long beautiful hair. 

“I’m afraid you two will have to leave now….” made Carlos look up and over at Cecil who was not acknowledging either Winchester, long hair or not. His eyes, all of them even the glowing ones that really shouldn‘t exist much less move like that, were all on him. ‘…..Carlos is here and we need to talk about science or something.”

Carlos was grateful for his caramel skin for most of his blush was hidden by it as he made a show of straightening out his lab coat and clearing his throat. 

“Um…..yes…science….I’ve come to talk to you about…..about how Wednesday being cancelled has affected time correlation and the numerical matrix of continuity application.” Carlos managed to slash dash something scientific together in time to recover.

Both men ignored the Winchesters as they left, much too involved with one another. Cecil grinned, resting his chin on folded hands to gaze up at Carlos with half lidded eyes.

“Neat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The glow cloud commands you to leave comments. All hail the glow cloud.


	4. Coffee, tea, or 'oh my god, why are you making me drink this?!'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OC warning.  
> A conversation over coffee. Cecil is annoyed.  
> Not beta read

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should go check out owlyjules on Tumblr who is exceptionally talented. She draws quite a bit of fan art for various fandoms including 'Welcome to Night Vale' fanart. You can find me(darkmoonsigel) on tumblr as well but I just post random things.

“That’s odd….” The blonde girl with the pretty blue eyes hidden behind wire framed glasses trailed off, taking a moment to blow the heat off of her drink. Her delicate and beautifully painted teacup was filled with Tim Horton’s coffee despite the pair’s whereabouts of being in a desert town several hundred miles away from any decent coffee shop. The teacup stated her name was Jules so it had to be true.

“Hmmm?” The red head sitting across from the blonde mumbled around a mouthful of coconut fortune cookies since wheat and wheat by products were still banned. The fortune inside the cylindrical cookie hinted that her name was Mel.

“I was just thinking that….that it’s a funny thing that Steve Carlsburg is Steve Carlsburg even in Desert Bluff.” Jules mused. She stole the little paper fortune from Mel and in by doing so stole her future and her name.

“He doesn’t deserve another name. That guy’s a jerk.” Mel who had just lost her name but didn’t seem to mind. She had others in her back pocket and there was still a half full box of coconut fortune cookies so her future, at least one of them, was safe and interchangeable. “And everyone knows he is a spoilsport.”

“I know, I know.” Jules sighed, setting false futures alight with her will and her want to do. “Poor Cecil though, he seemed so terrified by Desert Bluff, the poor dear. Kevin freaks me out a bit.”

“I see Desert Bluff….” and she did. Mel had green, green eyes when they decided to be the color of prophesy. “I see Desert Bluff. It is an ancient city made of bone whose marrows still bleed wet and red and sour, the city of the long dead, a mixture of old and new with all the fluidity of a patchwork corpse.”

“Hmmmm, that would fit.” Jules nodded wisely. “But the worse is how they act. My God.”

“It’s citizens walk around with forced smiles on their faces, some facilitated by masks that are seared permanently into their scarred, tortured flesh while others have had their grins sewn in with thread. They get to choose the color of their smile of course.” Mel droned on like a vacant and ignored Cassandra of old Greek myths. “Unlike Night Vale, their clocks are real, so utterly and horribly real. And they cry and tremble when the minutes run out on them…..”

“…..As they all inevitably do.”

“Oh dear….” Jules murmured, throwing her teacup of delicious coffee into the redhead’s face to snap her out of the trance. Mel would go on for hours if anyone let her. “Yes, yes. That would totally fit. That’s where those strangers should have gone to hunt, but then again maybe its better they came to Night Vale instead. I really don’t want them to set foot in Desert Bluffs.”

Jules suddenly leaned in to whisper. “The angels were right. Kill your double.”

Taking the sudden segway in conversation with grace and applaud and just a touch of insanity, Mel plucked a piece of paper out of Jules’s teacup. “The city council has sent you a notice. It appears to be a note only slightly moistened with Timmie’s coffee that did not have salt added to it this morning. The notices reads ‘angels lie and are not real. Report to city hall for re-education and de-education.’. Oh dear….”

“Oh.” Jules blinked, looking blankly morose but accepting of her fate. “Oh well, see you in a month.”

“Yes….” Mel fell back into a trance, though not the same one from before. “…but will you be you or the other you….the one we don’t talk about but stands right behind you, staring at the back of your head.”

Jules stared at Mel in answer whose eyes were the green gold of true observation. “I was not supposed to mention that…..forget I said anything.” Mel said, looking slightly embarrassed. “….and do not look too closely at pictures of yourself…..Sometimes your shadow is not always there or yours to begin with….”

“Hmmmm….thanks for reminding me.” Jules said in icy tones as cold at the false fingers that were grazing her back, letting her know that she was never truly alone. Never. “Oh dear, my neighbors have been gone for a while now. They should probably have stayed in their blood stone circle.”

“It’s their own fault. The apocalypse’s schedule was clearly posted in the origami flower fliers the hooded figures left on our door mats last week.” Mel dismissed with a curl of lip to denote her obvious disgust and low opinion of unvigilant people. “That’s just negligence on their part. Shameful really.”

“Yes, I know.”, Jules tsked who never liked to talk ill of people but did because of the curse branded on her tongue. “Like those persons of interest that let their kids play outside when there is a chance of hawk helicopters…..not that I know anything about them.”

Mel shook her head sadly in agreement. “It’s that kind of radical parenting that don’t even arm their children with light assault rights. In my day, we never left the house with nothing less.”

“Hmmm, I believe you. Even in my time at least they would make a sacrificial ritual to prevent regrettable accidents.” Jules nodded, all sage and stolen wisdom.

“Speaking of which, the Glow Cloud- ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD-……what was I saying?” Mel blanked out mid-sentence to look worriedly around her. 

“ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD.” Jules stated back before descending into a mutual confusion which was comforting as little pink spiders on bare skin. “….I don’t know. Something about Arby’s?”

“…..anyway, the school board has incorporated Enochian into its language program……for reasons I don’t know and find particularly odd for some reason….” Mel whispered to throw off the secret police. They hated it when words were spoken softly and lacking fervent hand gestures. 

“Good. Enochian is something every young one should be able to know.” Jules mumbled back. 

“Darling, I have been saying that for years or just now. Who really knows or can prove anything? A society can not subsist on ancient Sumerian alone. What angels with living in town and all…..” Mel paused as she cracked open another coconut fortune cookies to find an extensive note hidden within instead of a fortune or a future. “Oh dear, I’ve seemed to have received a note via my coconut fortune cookie from the city council. It looks like I’ll be joining you in re-education and de-education.”

“Remember when Steve Carlsberg tried to place English class? English?!” Jules spat out in contempt, her brain simmering like a crock-pot of beef stew and mystery. “What a shameful person this Steve Carlsberg is!”

“….and not that you or I know anything about angelic beings in Night Vale.” Jules added, her blue eyes darting back and forth, searching the corners as she memorized the positioning of the shadows.

“Angels? What are you talking about?” Mel hummed to herself and rocked in place before checking back into this reality. “I know, right?! English class? Pssssssh. Can nothing be done about this madman and his tiring suggestions? His dry scones and note taking of the minutes are insult upon the senses enough.”

“Oh! I am so happy about the new free wifi at the old abandoned mine….” Jules started to say to be interrupted.

“Pardon me listeners but it seems someone has let wild animals into the booth who appear to be having coffee in teacups and sharing a box of coconut fortune cookies. I am attempting to shoo them away considering they are having quite a chatter and rudely disrupting the program.” Cecil glared, giving the owl and fox seated near him a hard look.

The owl apologized but it was Canadian so that was sort of expected. The fox piddled in a corner which an intern had to clean up later on and subsequently died while doing so. That’s what interns were there for after all

Cecil was perfectly fine though mildly annoyed. The talking animals hadn’t offered him any coffee at all but had left the coconut fortune cookies so the future was looking up for him. Or down depending on where one‘s head was at or positioned on their body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Your comments gain a new life perspective after riding the subway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. More to come.


End file.
